The Beauty In Imperfection
by SereneCalamity
Summary: Clint always thought that Natasha was beautiful, even when she didn't. Clintasha. OneShot.


_So here I am, with more Clintasha, because they're amazing. This didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it too, but I hope you guys still enjoy it. Now, there are a couple triggers in here toward anorexia, so just be wary of that._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, only the plot._

The first time Natasha Romanov saw Clint Barton, she was eight years old. It was at a co-ed sports day, and about four schools had come together. She was in her schools strict soccer uniform; red shorts, white polo, knee high red and white socks and the expensive soccer shoes she got for Christmas. Her mother had pulled her hair into two tight French plaits on either side of her head, her hair pulled so tightly at her scalp that it was making her eyes water. She was standing, shivering, next to her best friend, Maria Hill, waiting for their game to start. Maria had two older brothers, so she was used to all the shouting and the pushing that with being around boys, but Natasha wasn't, and she was fascinated.

There was a new girl in their year who always wore a red ribbon in her hair named Wanda Maximoff who was standing with two of the boys from one of the schools, the two of them holding hockey sticks. One of the boys was laughing and couldn't seem to stay still, but the other was the complete opposite. He had his hockey stick clasped in his hands and he was staring straight ahead.

Directly at her.

Natasha blinked at him, taken by surprise as their eyes met. He didn't seem embarrassed at being caught looking at her, his expression didn't change at all. Her cheeks flushed pink and she ducked her head to hide her flaming cheeks. She counted to ten under her breath before looking back up again. The dark haired boy was still looking at him, but this time, there was a crooked smile on his face.

Natasha had no idea how to explain how she was feeling.

She felt like she was about to throw up—but in a weirdly _good_ way.

* * *

Natasha's father, Callum Romanov, was the chief of police in the biggest precinct in the city, and he ran his home like he ran his office; discipline and order. Ariana Romanov, Natasha's mother, used to be a prima ballerina until she landed wrong after a triple pirouette and then she was never able to professionally dance again. The combination of both parents created a very structured and almost competitive home life—the competitors being Natasha against herself.

For as long as she could remember, Natasha always had to be the best. Even in things that her teachers would tell her were meant to be fun, like cross-country and triathlons—she always had to push herself harder. There was nothing that would be said by her parents if she came second best or got less than ninety percent on a test, there were just long, disappointed looks.

She was enrolled in almost every club there was at school, as well as ballet, piano and vocal lessons. Even in weekends, she barely ever had free time.

The next time she saw Clint, she learnt his name. He was best friends with Wanda's brother, Pietro Maximoff, who was the boy who was always running places. The time after that, she was out shopping with her mother, and it looked like he was with his own mum. They looked like the complete opposite of Natasha and Ariana. While Ariana had always drilled into her to never be seen in public with a hair out of place, Clint's mother looked harried, and her hair was falling out of her ponytail at the nape of her neck. But the thing that really set them apart was the way they interacted with each other.

Natasha and Ariana walked stiffly, side by side, their backs ramrod straight. Clint was bouncing over the place, looking at everything and then running back to his mothers side. His mother didn't seem to mind, smiling widely at him and ruffling his hair or resting her arm around his shoulders. They looked completely at ease with each other, which was something that Natasha just couldn't understand.

He didn't notice her until they got to the counter, and Natasha and Ariana had lined up in front of them. He was mid-beg to his mother, asking for a chocolate bar when he saw her, and cut off. He ran his fingers through his short, spikey hair and gave her that lop-sided smirk which she was _still_ day-dreaming about.

Natasha's cheeks went bright red.

* * *

The first time she held a proper conversation with Clint, she was drunk. She was beyond drunk, and the only thing she could actually remember properly from that night was talking with Clint out the back of the Maximoffs house. It was the first time she had properly had alcohol, other than few sips of wine or brandy at Christmas, and given her petite figure and the way she watched what she ate, it hadn't taken too long before the room was spinning and every single word she was saying was suddenly hilariously funny. Maria and Wanda loved it—especially since they had been trying to get her to come out sine they were fifteen and everyone 'normal'—as they put it—were doing it already. At some point, she found herself laying on her back on the dewy grass of the back lawn, staring up at the stars in the clear night sky. It was only just coming into Spring, and she should be cold, but she felt perfectly content.

"Natasha!" Came a panicked shout from the back door of the house. Natasha noted the concern in the voice and turned her head to see Clint jogging over to her. "Nat..." he shook his head as he looked down at her and she smiled back at him. "Shit, girl. I thought you had coma'd out or something."

"No," she replied softly. "Lay here with me," she instructed him, patting the damp ground next to her. Clint didn't hesitate, laying down so close that his arm was brushing up against hers.

"I think me and you should go out sometime," Clint announced and Natasha giggled in surprise. "I'm serious, Nat."

"No one calls me Nat," she said absent-mindedly, tilting her head to the side. Clint didn't seem to mind that she hadn't answered his question, or more accurately, his statement.

"Do you not like it?" He asked. Natasha pondered on that for a few minutes.

"I think I do," she finally said. Clint grinned at her, his head twisted and facing hers. Natasha turned her own head so that their noses bumped together. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she found it hard to breathe. Then he leaned forward, and his lips briefly touched hers.

* * *

That night was something that she held onto for the next year, as everything spiralled out of control.

First, she got her period. Which probably made her the last person in her all girls school to do so, at seventeen. Her doctor had expressed concern a couple of times, saying that she was underweight and pushed herself too hard, physically and mentally. When she had taken the concerns back to her mother, though, Ariana had just said that a woman could never be _too_ thin.

But from the second she got her period, it was like the rest of her body finally got the message that she was becoming a woman. Her hips curved and her breasts grew and suddenly her clothes were all tighter around her chest and her ass. It threw off her balance at ballet, and she could see the look of annoyance on her mothers face as she became a little clumsy.

Deep down, she didn't care.

At least, not at first.

She didn't like ballet—she hadn't for a long time.

And she kind of liked the way her body looked when she stood in front of the floor length mirror in her room. Not exactly the way her stomach was now a little squishy, but she was no longer stick thin, and she liked the way her thighs and ass curved outward. Her cheeks also became a bit fuller, as well as her lips.

But then it seemed as though she started falling behind on things, not just ballet, but everything else as well. She was tired and distracted in class and she couldn't focus when she was meant to be studying. She felt hungrier than usual, but didn't eat anything more, even though Maria told her she was looking a little peaky. Ariana had started making snippy remarks about how they 'couldn't afford to go out and buy her a new wardrobe because she couldn't control her eating', and the excitement she had felt when first looking at her quickly changing body in the mirror was gone. Her father didn't say anything, as per usual, but he sighed heavily when he saw her school report.

She felt out of place, uncomfortable in her own skin, and completely detached from anyone and everything around her. Her parents—or more specifically, Ariana—never let her go out after school or on the weekends, telling her she needed to focus on her studies. It was only six months away before final exams, and these were these important ones. These were the ones that were going to ensure she get into a good college, and that's what she needed to do now that she was falling behind in ballet.

Natasha was pretty sure Ariana was trying to ignore the fact that there was _no way_ Natasha was going to be a ballerina, and was pretending to herself that she was just going through a temporary setback.

She was throwing herself into the extra study sessions for school, and for her piano, and for her vocal lessons, and to keep her mother happy, she added an extra ballet class.

It didn't matter.

She knew she wasn't going to be the best.

She knew she wasn't good enough.

Natasha didn't know how much time had past or what was going on, it felt like she had gotten herself stuck in this endless cycle of school, study, sleep, repeat. It wasn't until she woke up one morning and her body felt so sluggish, as though her limbs were too heavy for her to move. There was an insane rushing in her ears and her vision was blurred, and it spotted with dark splotches. The idly thought that that had been happening a lot lately, but then she had pushed through it. It took her almost ten minutes to drag herself out of bed and to the bathroom. Her hair looked stringy and her eyes were sunken, the skin underneath appearing bruised. She caked on her make up and dressed slowly, her clothes feeling as though they were weighing her down even more.

When she got to school, Wanda and Maria gave her the funny looks they had been giving her most days over the past month or so. They asked her if she was okay, like they had been doing a lot lately. She nodded and brushed them off and went to her locker.

And then she stumbled, and the ground was getting so close, but she couldn't stop herself from falling, and then everything was going dark.

Two days later, she woke up in hospital.

She was diagnosed with anorexia and depression. They weren't too certain how acute her depression was, they were holding off that diagnosis until they spoke with her.

Clint visited her everyday.

Every single day.

It wasn't always for very long, sometimes ony half an hour, but he always came without fail. He brought her books and magazines, as well as loading up his iPod and lending it to her with the charger. He made her laugh, and he never references the reason why she was in there, but she saw the look he got in his eyes when she pushed her food around the plate.

So she ate.

At first, she ate to make him happy.

It wasn't that much, because she really didn't feel that hungry.

But then, as time went by, and Wanda and Maria came, telling her about school and the latest boys they were into, she started eating for her. She didn't want to be tired and barely able to move. She didn't want to look into the mirror and see herself looking even more frail than she did before. Her hair was limp and her body looked as though it was going to break.

She was eighteen, and she wanted to be having fun with her friends.

She wanted to be falling in love.

Ariana and the Chief became more supportive, Ariana even crying a few times when the doctors and nurses told them how serious it was. It was the first time that she had seen her other look less than perfect it public, and it had made Natasha's heart clench. Their family had never been the kind to show emotion, and seeing her mother falling apart really made it clear how bad things were. She would fall asleep next to her, her make up a mess in the mornings, but Ariana didn't seem to care.

Things changed.

And Natasha was surprised how much better she felt.

Ariana asked if she wanted to drop out of ballet, and respected Natasha's decision when she said no. She also stopped piano, so that by the time she went back to school almost three months later, her only after school activities were soccer and vocal lessons.

At first, there were whispers and side way looks as she walked down the hallway and sat in class. But Maria and Wanda never left her side, their arms linked with hers like her own personal body guards. Because she had already been so far ahead with her school work, it hadn't been hard for her to catch up with where everyone else was. They were halfway through their final year and most other students would be freaking out about catching up to be on top of everything before exams, but Natasha had realized something surprising.

She wasn't worried.

The whole demeanour and attitude was so new to her, that when she had first clicked that she wasn't stressing about a mock exam, she had let out a laugh. In fact, the only thing that she was really worried about was her final photography board—and even then, it wasn't because she needed to pass, it was because she had discovered a new found love for photography and wanted it to be her best.

Even though she wasn't pushing herself as hard, she was still relatively busy in the afternoons and the weekends. She hadn't seen Clint since she had left the hospital, although she had spoken to him on Facebook a couple of times. His iPod had been the soundtrack to her evenings and it was weird, and it didn't really make sense, but it made her feel like he was there with her. From what he told her, and also from what she had heard from Wanda, he was working toward a sports scholarship, and that's why he hadn't had any free time lately.

It was two weekends before exams started when her phone rang, with _Unknown Caller_ showing on the screen. Natasha was considering not answering it, but then shrugged and picked it up, putting it to her ear.

"Hello?" She asked.

"Nat?" Came a voice that made her stomach flip over.

"Clint?"

"Yeah," he let out a short laugh. "Wanda gave me your number, I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine," Natasha assured her, thinking that she was going to kiss Wanda for passing on her number to the boy. "What's up?"

"Well, do you remember that night...At that party?" He asked her. He didn't need to be any more specific than that, Natasha's cheeks flamed just remembering the kiss—her first and only kiss—from that night.

"I do," she replied quietly.

"You agreed to go out with me sometime," he reminded her.

"Uh, yeah. I know," she wondered where he was going with this. She hoped he was going in the direction that she _thought_ he was going in.

"Well, I thought we could do that now," he said. Natasha frowned. "I'm waiting outside your place...Wanda gave me your address as well."

"Oh, I, uh—" Natasha's eyes widened in panicked. "I'm, uh, I'm not ready to go out!"

"I just want to go for a walk," Clint said with a laugh. "You don't need to look fancy or anything."

"Yeah, I know, I just—" Natasha was grasping for reasons to give herself a little bit of time to get herself pulled together and looking a bit more presentable than the mess she was now, still in her pyjama pants and her hair a frothy mess around her face. "I just gotta go talk to my mum, okay?"

"Sure thing," he said. "I'll just wait right here."

"Okay," Natasha replied before ending the call and looking around her room in panic. Her eyes came to a stop when they reached the doorway as she saw her mother standing there, an eyebrow raised.

"Talk to your mum about what?" Ariana asked.

"Um..." Natasha chewed down on her lower lip. Ariana stared at her impassively for a moment before a small smile creased her mouth.

"Was that the boy who visited you in hospital?" She asked. Natasha's cheeks went an even brighter red. "You think that your father and I didn't know about him? He was there almost every time we can to see you; I even found him asleep in the chair next to your bed one morning, the nurses said that he spent the night." Natasha knew which night she was talking about. Clint had come late, and said he would only stay for a little bit, but then he had started telling her about Pietro and his antics, and she had gone to sleep with his hand gripping hers.

"I really like him, mum," Natasha whispered. Ariana's smile grew.

"So you can't keep him waiting!" She said. "Come on, what are you going to wear?" Natasha's eyes widened in surprise. Things with her parents, and especially her mother, had been getting steadily better over the past few months, but Natasha still hadn't been sure what Ariana would say if Natasha had told her that she wanted to go out with a boy. She certainly didn't think that her mother was going to help her decide what to wear.

But ten minutes later, Ariana was taming Natasha's hair and resting her hands on her daughters shoulders. Natasha looked herself up and down in the mirror, trying not to be overly critical of her reflection. She had put on a simple blue dress that hugged her figure and fell just above her knee, and a light-weight white cardigan.

"You look beautiful," Ariana murmured in her ear, squeezing her shoulders lightly, and Natasha met her mothers eyes in the mirror. "Now. Go and meet this boy. Don't be back too late." Natasha nodded and almost skipped out of the room and down the stairs toward the front door. Clint was sitting on the concrete steps leading up to the house, and the flare in his eyes and the way he straightened his shoulders just a little bit more made Natasha more confident.

"Hey," she greeted him, feeling a little shy.

"Hey," Clint smiled at her. "I thought you might have changed your mind."

"No way," Natasha quickly replied and Clint let out a laugh. He held out his hand to her, and after a second, she took it in hers, and he linked their fingers together as though it was the most natural thing in the world. He lead her down the street, and they walked in silence toward the park, their linked hands swinging between them. When they got there, Clint let go of her hand to take off his shoes. Natasha frowned at first, but then noticed that he was bee-lining towards the kids area, with a sandpit.

"Come on," Clint urged her as he held his shoes in one hand and held the other out to her.

"Yeah, hold on," Natasha grinned, leaning down to pick her sandals up and then eagerly taking his hand again. He dragged her toward the sandpit, but he really didn't need to tug so hard. She was completely entranced by the spikey haired, blue eyed boy, and she would follow him anywhere. It was late in the afternoon, and the park was practically desolate, except for a dog walker on the far side, and two joggers. Clint sat down on the wooden railing around the sandpit and waited for her to sit down next to him. She spread her legs out in front of him, digging her toes into the sand and grinning as it spread over her feet.

"You look like a little kid," Clint laughed as she put her hands in the sand as well, lifting up her fingers to let the sand fall through her fists.

"Oh," Natasha grinned a little shyly over at him. "Well...My mum never really let me play in the sandpit. In fact," she sighed and dropped her hands to rest at her sides. "I never really went to the park when I was little." Clint pursed his lips together and looked out into the distance. Natasha looked over at him and nudged his arm with her shoulder. "It's getting better now, though. I think..." she took in a deep breath. "I think after the hospital thing—"

"It wasn't a hospital thing," Clint interrupted her softly. "You had anorexia. It's nothing to be ashamed of, you don't need to try and hide it." Natasha stared at him for a second before looking back down at the sand that was hiding her hands.

"Yeah, well, whatever the case," Natasha muttered. "It's getting better between us. So I guess one good thing came out of this mess."

"That's not right," Clint contradicted her and reached out to touch his finger to her chin. She felt the contact throughout her whole body, sparks flickering over her skin as his fingers turned her face toward him. "It was just another piece of your life. It wasn't the best thing, far from it, but it's something you can learn from. I mean...You look happier now than I think I've ever seen you."

"You hardly ever saw me before," Natasha snorted.

"That's not true, Nat," Clint's fingers brushed down, down the curve of her neck, over her shoulder and down her arm, until he found her hand in the sand. "I saw you a lot. And every time I did...Even when you were smiling, your eyes were sad." Natasha swallowed hard and he smiled at her. "Not now. You smile with your eyes."

"Why did you look at me?" Natasha asked, tilting her head to the side and letting out a short laugh. "I mean...I was always so uptight and stressed and kind of a perfectionist," she let out another laugh. "And now, I'm so far from perfect it's crazy—"

"Who wants perfect?" Clint gave her a look like she was insane. "You're beautiful." Her cheeks flamed red and she ducked her head to hide her blush.

"You're not really talking like an eighteen year old guy, you know that?" She joked lightly, trying to cover her embarrassment, but her throat was tight.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" Clint asked her with a smile.

"A good thing," Natasha nodded. Clint grinned.

"So I hear that you're thinking about doing a photography degree—" Clint broke off because Natasha's mouth was pressing against his. He was surprised at first, but then when he felt her beginning to draw away from him, his hand pulled away from hers and put it behind her head, holding her against him. The kiss lasted longer than at the party and when they pulled apart, they were both breathing heavily. Natasha chewed down on her lower lip and let out a giggle.

"Uh, yeah! A photography degree!" She tried to continue his conversation as if they hadn't just broken it to make out. "I think dad's a little bit worried I'm going to turn into one of those crazy art students who die their hair red and all that crap."

"I think you'd look good with red hair," Clint grinned.

"Are you gonna stick around and find out?" Natasha asked tentatively. Clint leaned back in close to her, bumping her nose with his.

"Damn right I am," he promised her, this time initiating the kiss and stealing her breath for a second time that afternoon.

 _Hope you pretties like it!_

 _Let me know what you think :)_


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